The Collateral

You need Aid.

Jessica

Eventually I slept off. My first instinct when I woke up was to check time. I silently walk out of the room and into the lounge.

Four-thirteen the gold rimmed wall clock read. I look outside. The skies were dark. I HAD SLEPT FOR ALMOST TWELVE HOURS! I might as well start working. It was probably not the best idea but I couldn't bring myself to sleep again.

I walk to the cleaning closet and take out the equipments and set to work. It was much easier since I had done thorough cleaning yesterday. (Not that it had been difficult. It was just ... easier now). In less than two hours I was done cleaning. I head back to the makes quarters to freshen up. After that, I enter into the kitchen to have breakfast, wondering if Ethan's statement still applied for today as well.

My stomach grumbles as I opened the fridge. I see a half-eaten bread loaf and take it out. It felt heavy even though half its regular size. I cut a thin slice - Just in case my luck card was revoked today. I place it back and eat the piece I held in my hand. My stomach becomes mad at me for taking such a small piece so I take another. I wasn't too surprised at my hunger; after all I hadn't eaten supper.

Suddenly I remember Ethan. Such I go to him or I should just stay here and wait.

My body opts for the latter but my conscience opts for the former. I get up slowly dragging myself up the flight of stairs, yielding to my conscience's request.

Standing in front of the polished wooden door, I hesitate but eventually knock.

"Go away", a grumpy voices yells from the inside.

I continue knocking. "I said GO AWAY", the voice repeats.

"I just want to know if I should clean your room." I say nonchalantly.

Immediately, I hear angry stomping coming in my direction. "Which part of GO AWAY don't you understand", the voice says and the door flung open causing me to flinch.

His face is bruised and bloody which is probably the result of the evening clash yesterday. I gulp nervously and turn to leave.

"Wait", Ethan's voice stops me. There's a hint of calm in his angry tone. "I need you to clean up my room."

Honestly, I just wanted to see him. After hearing the wild backlash, I wanted to see how he was doing. I hadn't expected him to want a cleanup in his room. After all, his room was clean yesterday.

I quickly rush down to get my tools. It was right to call them mine right? I mean I was the only one who uses them. I head back up with them. After I while of contemplating whether to knock again or not, I do and his response is positive.

When I enter into the room, I have to blink a couple of times to make sure that this is the right one. The posters on the white wall were pulled down and shredded. The shelf was on the floor; books scattered everywhere. His study table was upside down and his stationary was everywhere. The wardrobe door was ajar and its content lay wrinkled on the floor.

I sigh and enter into the room. A crunching sound is heard underneath me. I look under my feet and realize that I was stepping on pieces of a broken vase. I start the cleaning by folding his clothes back into the closet. I was engulfed in the work when I hear him wince from trying to clean his own wounds. I could help but feel pity for him. Living in this mountain of wealth and yet being abused by your own father.

"Can I-", I offer and then hesitate, my thoughts reminding me of my place in this house.

Surprisingly he sets the cotton wool down and fixes his gaze on me. At first I thought he was about to say something sarcastic but when he doesn't, I take it as my cue. After washing my hand, I crouch beside him, supporting my weight on my toes as I take a new piece of cotton swab, the old one stained with blood. Dipping it in the warm water beside him, I take my time to clean all the wounds on his arms and head. I ask him if he has any mild soap. Without necessarily responding, he gets up and goes into his bathroom. He comes out hold a white piece of soap and hands it to me, sitting back on the bed.

I clean the area around the wound with the soap and some water, avoiding direct contact with the wound.

Rummaging through the first-aid box sitting on the bed, I find a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and disinfect the wounds with it. When I am done, I cover the wounds with bandages from the aid box.

"All done", I tell him when I finish.

He ignores me and walks out. "The place better be clean when I return."

What! Who does this guy think he is? Being the son of a billionaire doesn't mean he should be bratty.

"You don't just need physical aid but mental too", I want to yell but my voice betray me and It comes off as a mere whisper that I could barely here.